


how's your new boy ? does he know about me ?

by puckiety



Series: that's my name (don't wear it out) [3]
Category: American Idiot - Green Day (Album), American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Bets & Wagers, Blood, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Come Shot, Creampie, Daddy Kink, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Grinding, Making Out, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, Smut, Technically?, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, but only a little!, uhhh, yeah i hate that one too but Here We Are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckiety/pseuds/puckiety
Summary: still, she struggles for a few more moments, even though she knows as well as he does that he has her well and truly trapped.  when she finally stills, he just looks at her expectantly.“fine,” she says, turning her face away from him, “you win.”the admission brings more heat to her cheeks, heat that only burns hotter when he leans down to whisper in her ear.“you’re mine tonight,” he breathes, “how do you think your boy feels about that?”--St. Jimmy's like a black hole, maybe. Or maybe she missed him more than she'll ever admit.
Relationships: St. Jimmy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: that's my name (don't wear it out) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/921546
Kudos: 8





	how's your new boy ? does he know about me ?

**Author's Note:**

> yes, it's been two years, but i still love these two in all their dysfunctional glory, and hey, the word count came out to like 6,900 words so that's fun and sexy!

she swore that she wouldn’t go back to him.

(she’s sworn a lot of things; she’s not great at keeping promises to herself.)

\--

he swore that he didn’t want her anymore.

(he’s always been good at lying.)

he sees her at a party because of course he does; it’s the only place where their circles cross, the only point in time that they’re likely to exist in the same place ever since she walked out of his apartment. she’s wearing all black, which is unusual, and the leather jacket isn’t hers. there’s something else new, too, though he doesn’t know what it is at first. then she gets a little bit closer, and he sees that her lips aren’t coated in dark red tonight; they’re a bright, metallic blue.

he grins when he sees her despite the way she left him, because it looks like the kitten finally grew some claws. he knows the red was some attempt to seem badass, but she’d always paired it with pink and it had never really worked. now, dressed in leather and with her hair pushed back from her face, she _almost_ looks badass. if he didn’t know her, he might be intrigued – but he does know her, and he’s going to let her come to him.

(he knows she will, if only to rub it in his face how well she’s doing, as if he isn’t also fine; she’s childish like that. he’s the same way.)

it takes her a solid half an hour, but sure enough, she makes her way over to him.

“hey, sweetcheeks,” he says when she gets near, and she has the guts to pretend she didn’t notice him.

“jimmy,” she says, and he knows that she’s leaving off the _saint_ on purpose. “i thought you might be here.”

“i’m surprised you came, then.”

she shrugs, the movement almost hidden beneath the massive jacket. “i’m not afraid of you.”

“aren’t you?”

he leans in close, surprised to find that despite the makeover, she still smells like bubblegum. she bares her teeth at him in what might be a smile, except it’s sharper than any he’s ever seen on her face. the lipstick doesn’t look nearly as resistant as the red. he wonders how hard she’d hit him if he kissed her.

“not a bit,” she says through her teeth, that smile unflinching. her green eyes are lined messily with black, far more than they ever used to be.

he grins back, equally sharp. “how’s your new boy?”

the question surprises her, which it was supposed to. her eyes go wide, the smile dropping instantly. really, she didn’t think he’d notice the too-big jacket that _has_ to belong to a new lover – or boyfriend, if she’s really into him.

“he’s good,” she says awkwardly. “sweet.”

he knows what _sweet_ means. sweet means boring, means he has the alcohol tolerance of a baby and hasn’t _thought_ about doing drugs. “what’s his name?”

“you wouldn’t know him,” she says, which only confirms: this new guy is _boring_ with a capital b.

his grin widens. “does he know about me?”

carefully, she says: “everyone knows who you are.”

he laughs, because that’s clever – but not clever enough. “you know what i mean.”

she finally drops the façade. “no, he doesn’t know. nobody does. nobody ever did.”

he can tell she’s not lying, and he wonders what she told her friends, her roommate, what her excuse was as to why she was never home. did she make up another guy instead of saying who she was really with? or did she pretend to go back to her family?

“of course they did,” he says, and he doesn’t mean her friends. “how many people saw you at those parties? you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

she barks a laugh, even as she blushes a pretty pink color. “you were the one who couldn’t keep your hands off of _me_. the dope’s ruining your brain.”

“they still know,” he taunts, “and some of them are here tonight. how long’s it gonna take until word reaches your new boy that you were fooling around with saint jimmy only a couple weeks ago?”

“no,” she says, and it almost sounds like a plea. “jimmy, _no_.”

“who knows?” he continues, ignoring her, “maybe somebody told him already. i bet someone already said, _hey, isn’t that jimmy’s girl you were with_?”

she shoves at him, but he catches her wrists, holds them too tightly for her to escape no matter how much she struggles. she bares her teeth at him, and that’s when he kisses her, open-mouthed and ignoring the way she rages against him. he pulls her against him, rough, and for just a moment she submits, kisses him back. then she bites, _hard_ , hard enough that she draws blood and manages to rip herself away from him.

“what the _fuck_?” she yells, wiping at her mouth. the blue is smeared, and the sight makes him smirk, pleased, even as she storms off.

\--

“yo, you’re with zach, right?”

she looks up from her phone at the stranger talking to her. “yeah, why?”

“dude, you’d better get to the kitchen.” there’s some bright glint in the guy’s eye, something she doesn’t like. “he’s starting shit with saint jimmy.”

god _damnit_. zach saw jimmy kiss her, and she’d told him to leave it alone but zach’s always been protective. thing is, zach’s no good in a fight. he may be almost six foot, but he’s the size of a stick, and while jimmy’s smaller he’s _way_ stronger. zach doesn’t stand a chance.

(just for once, she wishes that zach would listen to her.)

she pushes her way through the crowd of people already forming at the entrance to the kitchen, using her sharp elbows to full advantage as she nudges people out of the way. a few grumble at her, but most don’t even seem to notice – too drunk or high, she assumes.

zach and jimmy have squared off in the kitchen. zach already has a bloody nose and looks pissed, while jimmy looks like he’s having the time of his life – which, knowing him, he probably is.

“come on,” jimmy’s taunting, with a dangerous glint in his eyes that she knows all too well, “that all you got, pretty boy?”

zach wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, spits on the ground, and glares at jimmy. “she doesn’t _want_ you. leave her alone.”

“how do you know what she wants?” he’s still taunting, and though he looks at ease she can tell he’s ready to throw another punch if zach tries anything. “for a minute there, she was kissing me back.”

“liar!” zach yells. jimmy laughs.

“am i?” and then he catches sight of her, and he laughs louder. “why don’t you ask her yourself?”

zach glances at her, and that’s when jimmy strikes again, throwing another punch that catches zach in the side of the head. before she registers what she’s doing she’s thrown herself at jimmy and is pulling at his arm, trying to get him away from her boyfriend. she’s not very successful, mostly because he’s twice as strong as her even though he isn’t any taller, but she at least succeeds in getting his attention. he shakes her off and steps back, still grinning. the expression is cruel.

zach’s on the floor, groaning, but the sight doesn’t worry her as much as it probably should. she’d _told_ him to leave it alone; it’s his own damn fault that he’s all bloodied and bruised.

“asshole,” she says to jimmy. his grin widens.

“you wanna square up too, sweetheart?”

she _does,_ actually, because there’s adrenaline running through her veins and it’s making her jittery. she needs to do _something_ , and since he’s offering…

“maybe i do,” she says, playing coy as ever.

“how about a wager?” jimmy asks. she sighs.

“what do you want?”

there’s rustling from across the kitchen as zach struggles to his feet, still groaning. “don’t do it,” he mumbles, “babe, don’t.”

jimmy arches an eyebrow at her.

“what do you _want_?” she repeats, biting out each word. he shrugs.

“simple, really. i win, you come home with me. i lose, i leave you alone for a while.”

“and _why_ –” she bares her teeth at him “—would i agree to that?”

“well, sweetheart,” he says, “as much as you and your boy want to deny it, you kissed me back earlier. which means – again, as much as you deny it – that you want me.”

she hates him. she can’t wait to punch his stupid face in.

(that’s a lie, even if she’ll never admit it, and she hates _that_ , too. he deserves to be hated; he’s an asshole, a cocky bastard, an antagonistic shithead who purposefully pokes at her buttons. yet she can’t seem to hate him the way she hates the bigots she’s faced, or even the way she hates her stepmother.)

“don’t,” zach says, but she ignores him. the prospect of jimmy leaving her alone is—well, she doesn’t know how she feels about it. it’ll mean one less person to kick zach’s ass, which is probably a good thing, even if she likes bickering with _saint jimmy_ (she still thinks the _saint_ bit is pretentious and stupid) more than she’ll ever admit. and if she loses, well, what’s one more night with jimmy in the grand scheme of things? there’s worse things she could do.

“you’ve got a deal, dickhead,” she says, planting her feet and rolling her shoulders, ignoring her sudden spike of anxiety. she’s never been in a fight before, not unless you can count the times she fought her brothers as a kid (which you can’t, not really, even though she usually won). jimmy grins, sharp, and something in the pit of her stomach tells her that she’s played straight into his hands.

well, she knows that. she’s not stupid; she knows that jimmy wouldn’t make this deal unless there was something for him to get out of it whether he wins or loses. she’s not sure what he gets from leaving her alone for a _while_ , but she knows that there must be _something_ ; he wouldn’t have offered it otherwise.

“come on, sweetcheeks,” he says, but he doesn’t bother to put up his fists.

the fight is embarrassingly short. she takes a swing at him with her right hand and he dodges, grabs her left shoulder and _pushes_ , sending her to the floor. she tucks her chin, because if there’s one thing she knows it’s how to fall, but the impact still knocks the breath out of her. and it doesn’t help that he’s landed on top of her, straddling her hips with that same sharp grin on his stupid face.

“nice try,” he laughs. “you gonna admit defeat?”

she snarls. she bucks her hips. she tries to punch him. but he remains atop her, keeping her pressed to the floor, and when she tries to strike him he grabs her wrists and pins them to the ground above her head. he’s still grinning, and she’s _pissed_. the crowd is still silent, but she knows what this looks like, with her pinned underneath him, and the thought that so many people are seeing her in this position brings a flush to her cheeks.

still, she struggles for a few more moments, even though she knows as well as he does that he has her well and truly trapped. when she finally stills, he just looks at her expectantly.

“fine,” she says, turning her face away from him, “you win.”

the admission brings more heat to her cheeks, heat that only burns hotter when he leans down to whisper in her ear.

“you’re mine tonight,” he breathes, “how do you think your boy feels about that?”

\--

she’s silent the whole ride back to his place. it doesn’t bother him; he knows she’s just fuming over her embarrassing loss, even though it’s a loss she must have expected. she’s even worse in a fight than her boy toy, which is saying something. still, he has to admit that he’s missed her fire, the way she’ll snarl at him and act like she wants to bit his head off when he knows full well that what she really wants is his hand around her neck.

“don’t mope, sweetheart,” he says as he parks the car. “you knew you weren’t gonna win that fight.”

she doesn’t say anything, which means he’s right. still, if she’s going to give him the cold shoulder, this isn’t going to be any fun at all.

“here,” he says, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a brownie he’d snatched at the party, “i figured you’d be bitchy, so i got you this.”

she eyes it suspiciously. “what’s the catch?”

“it’s a _price_ , not a catch,” he says. “and the price is that you can’t be prissy the whole fucking night, got it?”

she glares at him, but nods. he holds out the brownie, but when she goes to take it, he pulls back his hand. “open up,” he says.

she clenches her jaw, presses her lips together. he sighs.

“don’t be difficult, sweetcheeks, or you won’t get any at all.”

 _that_ gets her to open her mouth, although there’s a fire in her eyes that means she’s not happy about it. he feeds it to her, one bite at a time, the same way he did that first night he got her high all those weeks ago.

“good girl,” he says when she finishes, and grins at the way she squirms. he loves watching her get uncomfortable, because he knows that the praise gets under her skin, turns her on even though she tries to pretend it doesn’t.

“fuck you,” she says, but her cheeks are red and she’s not looking him in the eye anymore. he grins.

“you will.”

she rolls her eyes at him. “what’s your game? why make that wager?”

“i wanted a fuck,” he says. she shakes her head.

“you and i both know that you could get any girl at that party. why me?” she glances at him, narrows his eyes. “ _oh_. you wanted me because you knew i was taken.”

“i wanted you because you know what i like,” he says instead, opening his door. “get out of the car. we’re going inside.”

her grin is back, sharp and dangerous with the metallic blue still coating her lips. “people always want what they can’t have,” she taunts, but she gets out of the car and walks around to stand beside him. he grins back at her, but there’s a low thrum of anger humming through him. he pins her against the car, caging her in, and now she’s making eye contact, refusing to blink or look away.

“see, sweetheart, here’s the thing,” he says, voice low, “i _do_ have you.” he leans in until their lips are nearly brushing and she’s looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “and,” he breathes, pressing himself against her, “i’ll have you begging for me before the night’s over.”

“in your _dreams,_ ” she says, defiant glint in her eyes.

“we’ll see,” he promises, and kisses her right there against the car. for a moment she’s unresponsive, stiffens against him, but he rolls his hips and she gives in, kisses back just like she used to. he won’t say he’s missed her, but he has missed her mouth. he wonders if he’ll be able to get her on her knees tonight, or if she’ll tell him to go to hell.

then she rolls her hips back and he _knows_ he’ll have her on her knees tonight, just like he used to.

“you’re such a slut,” jimmy says, “i bet you’re already wet for me.”

“fuck off,” she spits, but her voice is breathy.

“you can’t deny it. i know you.” his hand slides up her thigh, under her skirt, and those bright eyes of hers are dark with desire. “i could fuck you right here and you wouldn’t care. isn’t that right?” anger flashes in her eyes, and she bites her lip, but no words escape her. jimmy laughs. “that’s what i thought.”

“you don’t know me,” she says. “not really.”

“you gonna fucking tell me you don’t like the idea of someone seeing you on your knees?” he reaches up further, resting his hand over her panties, waiting for her to tell him to stop. she doesn’t. his grin widens. “remember that party you begged me to bring you to, sweetcheeks? the bathroom?”

her cheeks go red; she remembers, alright. she’d been desperate to get out of her house, so desperate that she offered to fuck him if he took her to a party. _gonna suck me off?_ he’d asked, and she’d turned the same furious shade of red she is now and said _fine_.

“i know you liked that,” he says. “you were so turned on by the time we got there, and all i had to say was – ”

her hips buck against his hand, a frustrated noise erupting from her. “you trying to warm up your fucking hand, asshole, or are you going to touch me?!” he ignores her. he told her she’d be begging for him, and she isn’t there yet, so he isn’t going to touch her. it’d be a damn shame, except she’s already soaking through her underwear.

“i’m gonna fuck you good,” he continues, as if she hadn’t interrupted. if the increased blush on her cheeks is anything to go by, ignoring her is pissing her off. _good_. “right up against the mirror on the fucking sink. and tonight, i’m gonna do that again. and then i’m gonna fuck you over the kitchen table. and against the wall.” her cheeks are still red, but her mouth is slightly agape and he knows _that_ expression well enough that he doesn’t need a hand between her legs to realize she’s insanely turned on. she plays the good girl, sure, but she’s just as kinky as him. “you like the sound of that, don’t you?” her mouth opens a little wider, but her eyes turn defiant and she snaps her lips shut, glaring at him. jesus fucking christ, she’s a stubborn bitch. if she were anyone else, he’d have kicked her out by now, but he knows how sweet her eventual submission will be. so he grabs her jaw with his free hand, holding her head still. “ _don’t you_?”

“you’re an asshole,” she bites out.

“your pussy disagrees, sweetcheeks.” and he presses up against her clit through the fabric of her panties, grinning at the moan that slips from her lips. her hips gyrate as she tries to rub against his hand, but he pulls away after only a moment, relishing in her frustrated whine. she’s _so_ easy to tease, so easy to drive absolutely insane. he’s barely trying, and she’s almost to her breaking point. if he pushes her just a little more, she’ll give in. and if she doesn’t want this? well, if she wanted to stop, she’d tell him to stop, and he would. he’s an asshole, but not that much of one. “bet if i bent down a little, i could _hear_ how wet you are.”

she makes another frustrated noise, tries to take a swing at him, but he catches her hands and pins them above her head. they’re the same size, but she’s pathetically weak – and, like he said, if she wanted to stop, she’d _say so_. “someone’s going to catch us,” she hisses.

“you know what you have to do,” he responds. somehow, she gets redder, and she glances away from him and plasters a sneer onto her face.

“please,” she says. her voice is hard.

“you can ask nicer than that.”

she huffs, struggles a little against his grip–she still can’t break her arms free–and tosses her head back. “ _fine_.”

there’s a pause. he presses his fingers up again, making her breath hitch. “i’m _waiting_ , babydoll.”

“ _please_ can we go inside?” her voice is almost a whine. he pretends to consider her words, and then she _does_ whine. “please take me inside.”

he’s not satisfied yet, and half of him wants to make her fall apart right here, but instead he removes his hand and slides his arm around her waist to walk her inside. it’s rough—his fingers dig into her ribs, he knows—but she doesn’t complain. there’s a flush high on her cheeks, actually, and she keeps worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

fuck, he wants her mouth on his cock.

her hand strays to the front of his jeans as he unlocks his door, and even though the grazing touch sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine, he digs his fingers deeper into her side until she lets out a little grunt of pain and snatches her hand away: “ow, what the _fuck_?!”

“i didn’t say you could touch,” jimmy taunts, and pulls her through the door.

\--

she hates him. she really, really hates him.

more specifically, she hates that he knows what makes her go wild for him, the way his filthy words make her knees go weak. she can spit and rave and shout all she wants, insist that there’s nothing appealing about him, but he _knows_. and it infuriates her, both that he’s so full of himself and that he can so easily see through her. no other boy’s ever figured her out like him. it would almost be romantic—if the saint did romance. or if she did romance with _him_ , which she doesn’t. never has, and never will. it’s always just been like this: his touch possessive, his grin sharp, his gaze heavy and heated as he guides her through the door and then pushes her against it as soon as it’s closed.

his mouth goes to her neck, and she can tell from the ache that he’s left a sizable hickey on her pale skin. she shouldn’t be as into it as she is—she used to be, but that when they used to hook up, when she was touch-starved and desperate and sometimes even his fingers grazing her jaw were enough to get her going. but she has zach now, so even though she is into this she shouldn’t be, because zach gives her sweet kisses and holds her hand and tells her that she’s beautiful, stunning, calls her _love_ instead of _sweetcheeks_ and compliments something other than her tits.

speaking of: jimmy’s pushing her jacket off of her shoulders and tugging at her shirt, clearly trying to gain access to her chest. his voice is a growl when he says “ _off_ ,” and maybe the edible is kicking in or maybe it’s from his kisses but she does it without a fight or even a frown. she’s wearing a lacy bralette, unlined, and she doesn’t have to look down to know that her nipples are hard and visible through the undergarment. he laughs, and the sound goes through her, twisting in the pit of her stomach. his hand’s not between her thighs anymore but that doesn’t matter, she can _feel_ that her underwear is soaked and it only gets wetter when his head drops to her chest, biting and sucking at her tits. it takes her a few seconds to realize she’s moaning, and her face burns when she _does_ realize, biting her lip to hold back any more sounds. she thinks it might piss him off, but jimmy only looks up at her with black-rimmed eyes and laughs cruelly again before closing his mouth around her right nipple.

the lace of her bralette and the wet heat of his mouth send a jolt through her, and her hips buck against the thigh he’s wedged between her legs. then he bites down, just this side of too hard, and she lets out a part-moan, part-cry. he releases her nipple and pushes his thigh up further instead, and oh god, she’s suddenly very glad she wore a skirt. the friction is _good_ , and she can’t help but grind a little against his jean-clad leg, tilting her hips to try and get more of it on her clit.

“you’re so fucking desperate,” he sneers, grabbing at her chin to bring her in for a kiss. unsure of what to do with her hands—mindful of what happened last time she touched him—she digs her fingers into her own thighs, moaning into his mouth when she finally gets the angle just right and fabric rubs over her clit. “doesn’t your boy take care of you? or does he not know what a kinky slut you are?”

if she wasn’t so damn turned on the words would piss her off, but instead the humiliation of it all has her grinding down harder on his thigh as her face burns. it doesn’t help that he’s right: zach doesn’t know. zach didn’t even know about jimmy, of course he doesn’t know about all the depraved shit she’s into. her boyfriend’s one of the most vanilla people she knows; the worst he’ll do is pull her hair a little. jimmy knows how to push her buttons, how to take her apart piece by piece and make her someone wild and feral. when he calls her _good girl_ in that condescending voice it’s because she’s done something that zach—or any of her friends, really—would find degrading. when she’d left jimmy, she’d told herself that he didn’t like who she was with him. but that’s not really true; there’s something freeing about this, being used even as she’s using him. _god_ , she’s fucked up.

“well?” and it’s only when he speaks again that she realizes the saint is waiting for an answer. her face heats up even more, and she can’t meet jimmy’s eyes when she answers.

“he doesn’t.”

“doesn’t take care of you?” his voice drips with false sympathy, and he grabs her chin again, forces her to make eye contact with him. “or doesn’t know you’re a kinky slut?”

he’s not pushing his thigh up so much anymore, waiting for her to answer, and the loss of friction is practically unbearable. she whines—really whines, squeezes her eyes shut because it’s too much, him _looking_ at her, the admission that as much as she claims to like zach he doesn’t know a damn thing about her. “ _both,_ ” she spits out finally, then: “please.”

jimmy laughs. “please what?”

“i need—” she doesn’t know what she needs. it’s all-encompassing, clouding her thoughts. she feels like she’s losing her grip on reality. then his thigh is back against her cunt and she moans, the sound breathy from relief. her eyes fall closed and she lets her head fall back against the wall as she works her hips, chasing her pleasure.

“what do you think he’d say if he saw you like this?” jimmy’s voice is right beside her ear, a rumble that inspires images of zach _watching_ this, standing aghast as he watches his girlfriend rut against the thigh of a man he’s only ever heard her speak of with disdain—“he’d be disappointed that his girlfriend is a whore, of course. and then he’d be jealous that he’s never made you act like this.” because he’s _right_ , zach hasn’t ever driven her to this point. she doesn’t think he could if he tried. “but, babydoll, we both know he’d be turned on. he’s probably into watching his girl get filled up by someone with a bigger dick than him. he’s probably home right now, jacking off to the thought of me coming in you.”

she can’t answer, too close to form words. she wants to go faster but can’t quite manage without losing her balance so she grabs at his shoulders, grinding down a little harder. he laughs, but doesn’t stop her.

“has anyone else ever made you this fucking desperate?”

she shakes her head a little.

“who turns you on so much that you hump their leg like a bitch in heat?”

“you!” god, she hates to admit it, hates how good it feels to be called a bitch in heat, like this is her _nature_ , like she was made to do this.

“that’s right.” his hands slide up her sides, fingers rubbing at her nipples. each touch sends a spark straight to her cunt. “and you’re going to come like this, aren’t you? worse than that, you _want_ to come from humping my thigh. you’re disgusting.”

she’s so close, but it’s not enough; she’s never come from humping something, no matter how hard he tries. “i—i can’t, i can’t— _daddy_ —” if she wasn’t so out of it, she’d be appalled that she’s revealed _that_ to him, but jimmy just laughs darkly and pinches her nipples. she cries out, but it’s still not quite enough to push her over the edge.

“you will.” and his mouth is at her neck again, biting down, and that’s what does it. she cries out, jolts against him as the coil in her stomach snaps, digs her fingers into his shoulders as her hips, beyond her control, buck against him. when she can breathe again, she opens her eyes and finds him smirking at her. “good girl. my turn.”

she knows what that means, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want this too. he doesn’t even have to push her to her knees, but his hand stays on her shoulder anyway as she fumbles with his belt and fly. even the sight of the bulge in his pants sends a surge of need through her—god, she _is_ desperate—but she ignores it as she tugs his jeans and underwear down to his thighs and takes as much of him as she can into her mouth. at least he’s the one moaning now, staring down at her with wild green eyes as she tries to suppress her gag reflex.

“ _fuck_ ,” he moans, sliding his hand to her hair and gripping it tight. the jolt of pain makes her moan and before she can think twice, she takes him the rest of the way, delighting in the way his hand flexes as she looks up at him. she can’t really breathe like this, but there’s something satisfying about the wild look in his eyes as he tugs her back off of his cock. she smiles, as sharp as she can manage, and the saint scowls. “i’m gonna fuck your face,” he snarls.

she smiles wider, then lets her mouth fall open and runs her tongue along the underside of the head of his cock. and though she’s expecting it, she still gags a little at his first thrust. his fingers are still wound tight in her hair, and she grabs at his thighs for a semblance of balance as he roughly fucks her mouth. her eyes fall closed and she moans around his cock, but only a second later he tugs harder on her hair. the pain makes her eyes open as he says “no. look at me.” so she does, though his black-rimmed gaze makes her cheeks burn. she whines a little; the intensity of it makes her feel absolutely _filthy_. “you’re turned on again, aren’t you?”

it’s not a question, though it sounds like one, so she doesn’t try to answer. they both know she’s wet, anyway. she thinks her thighs are damp by this point, though it’s hard to focus on anything other than how much she needs to breath. just as she’s about to shove him away, grip on her hair be damned, he pulls out of her mouth and wraps his hand around his dick instead, and she _knows_ what he’s about to do. “open up.”

“you wouldn’t,” she says, but she knows he will.

jimmy smirks, breathless. “might wanna close your eyes, princess.”

she scowls at him, but opens her mouth and screws her eyes shut just as the first of his come spatters across her face. some of it lands on her tongue, but she can feel it all over her cheeks and forehead. when it finally stops she swallows what the bastard actually managed to get into her mouth and uses her hands to wipe at her eyes. “was that necessary?”

“you can bitch all you want, sweetcheeks, but i know you’re into it.”

she is, damn him, because the ache between her thighs is almost unbearable again. “are we done?”

he fake-pouts, grabbing her by the arm to pull her to her feet. “don’t you remember what i told you outside?”

she does.

“wait until you see how fucking slutty you look with come all over your face,” he laughs. “maybe we should send a picture to zach. think he’d like it?” she slaps at him—not hard, but the intent is there. he just laughs again. “i’m just _joking_ , sweetcheeks. if i did keep a pic, it’d be for my own spank bank.”

“no pictures,” she says, following him as he tugs her towards the bathroom. “i’m sure your memory will do just fine. unless all the drugs have finally fucked it over.”

“my memory’s just fine, baby.” he hits the light switch as they reach the—surprisingly clean—bathroom. that’s something, at least. she might be getting fucked over a sink (again), but at least it’s not filthy. “look at yourself.”

his hand is already at her jaw, forcing her to turn towards the mirror, so she couldn’t resist if she wanted to. the sight that greets her is _sinful_. her chest and neck are covered with red-purple hickeys that span from her jawline to just above the cut of her bralette. and she can—god, she can _see_ the come on her face. some of it’s dripped to her lips, and still more to her cleavage. she looks—she looks thoroughly, utterly, _fucked_. “oh,” she breathes, gaze flickering away from her reflection to jimmy’s. there’s a smear of blue at his mouth from her lipstick, and his eyes are dark, teeth white as he grins his shark’s grin at her. even though they’re the same height—even though she’s heavier than him—she feels like he dwarfs her.

“i thought about fucking those pretty tits of yours, coming all over you again,” he whispers, hand sliding up her thigh and under her skirt once more, “but i want your pussy more.”

she doesn’t know what to say, can’t think as his fingers creep closer to her panties, and her brain only short-circuits worse when he says “ _fuck_ , you’re dripping.” then he hooks his finger around her panties and tugs them down past her thighs, past her knees, so they hang around her ankles instead, a little scrap of pink lace. “you still on the pill, sweetcheeks?”

she takes a shaky breath, meets his gaze in the mirror. “you still clean, _asshole_?”

his finger gently passes over her clit. she swallows a whine. “isn’t it a little late to be asking that?”

right again. but that’s—he’s always been good about staying clean, though she can count on one hand the number of times they hadn’t used condoms. “just fuck me.”

he slides a finger into her, groans into her ear. “filthy words from a pretty mouth.” her mind spins, jimmy nipping at her shoulder as he adds another finger. “clothes off, sweets.”

this, at least, is familiar territory. she strips out of her bra and skirt as jimmy finally takes his _fucking_ shirt off and pushes his jeans and underwear down to his ankles, then allows him to push her forward until she’s bent at the waist and her hands are braced against the mirror. looking at her reflection is still overwhelming, but it’s overwhelming in the best way, the same way the slide of his cock into her cunt is. she moans, shaky and breathless at the fullness. at least they’re on nearly-equal ground, judging by how loudly he moans too.

“fuck,” she says when he starts to thrust, breath catching when he roughly grabs her breasts and rolls her nipples between his fingers. she finds she can’t look away from the mirror, gaze stuck on her tits in jimmy’s hands and the way her lips have parted as she moans. he notices, of course he does, and he pinches her nipple again. pain and pleasure jolt through her and she gasps, catching the gaze of his reflection for a moment and finding herself paralyzed by it.

“knew you liked watching yourself,” he grunts, squeezing again. “admit it: you like being a slut.”

“i do.” she doesn’t even know if he wanted an answer, but she’s just far gone enough that she doesn’t care. “i do like it.” watching herself, watching him, _being watched by him_ —it’s voyeurism and exhibitionism with no risk. of course she likes it, and of course he knows she likes it. she wishes she could touch herself, but all of her weight is on her arms, so she bites her lip and whines and says “come _on_. touch me, asshole.”

he bites her neck, not hard, but hard enough. “ask nicely.”

“ _please—_ ”

she cuts herself off and earns another nip, harder this time. he doesn’t have to say anything; he knows what she held back from saying, and he wants to hear it. and maybe for once, she wants to give him what he wants without a fight.

“please touch me, daddy.”

he laughs, releases his grip on her chest to rub at her clit. “in-fucking-credible. nothing better than a girl with daddy issues.” she doesn’t even think he means it to be humiliating, but her cheeks burn anyway. she can feel herself careening towards the edge, getting closer with every touch and every word. he’s still watching her reflection with black-rimmed eyes, and she can’t focus enough to break his gaze.

“i’m close.” it comes out as a gasp that turns into a moan as his fingers speed up. if she weren’t about to come, she’d be impressed that he remembers how she likes to be touched. but he touches her clit just right and the coil of pleasure in her core snaps.

“you moan like a fucking pornstar,” he laughs, but his thrusts are getting sloppy and he’s moaning too. she can tell he’s close, so she shifts her weight to her left arm and uses the other to grab his hand and tug it up to her mouth. it takes a little maneuvering, but the sound he makes when she wraps her lips around his fingers is well worth it. it’s only a few more thrusts before he comes, too, spilling into her as he bites down on her shoulder. the sensation turns her on again, but her clit’s so sensitive that she doesn’t even try to get herself off again.

they’re still for a moment, but then she pulls his fingers from her mouth and taps at his arm. “get off of me, jimmy. and nice compliment, by the way.” _you moan like a fucking pornstar_ ’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to her, if only because that’s just how she moans naturally.

he grumbles but steps back, grabbing for a washcloth to wipe himself off. he holds it out to her and she wrinkles her nose. “when was the last time you washed that?”

“pussy,” he retorts, chucking it over his shoulder instead. “you can just sleep like that, then. won’t catch me complaining if you start moaning in the middle of the night.”

“ugh.” but she follows him out of the bathroom, arms crossed. “the only reason i didn’t make you wear a condom is because you got me _high_.” he laughs. “what, asshole?”

“i didn’t get you high.”

mouth agape, she shoves at him. “you fed me a fucking edible! of course you got me high!”

“sweetcheeks, that was just a brownie i snatched at the party.”

“why the _fuck_ would you hand-feed me a regular brownie?”

he shrugs, shoots a sharp grin at her over his shoulder. “you’ve got a sweet tooth. and you’ve got that praise kink.”

“ _dick_.”

another shrug. “not my fault you assumed it was an edible. who’s the bad influence now?”

she lets out a strangled noise. “it’s still you! you’re still the bad influence!”

he doesn’t respond, just scoops a shirt off of his bedroom floor and tosses it to her. she gives it a suspicious sniff and, deeming it acceptably clean, slips it over her head. his comforter is half-off of his mattress so she tugs it up before throwing herself down with a heavy sigh.

“you gonna actually stay still this time, or you going to roll around in your sleep like usual?” he asks from where he’s pulling on a pair of pajama pants.

“you know i live to aggravate you,” she replies sweetly. then: “you never fucked me over the table. losing your touch?” he whips a pillow at her, but he doesn’t really look pissed. then again, it is dark in his room. “i’m just concerned, christ!”

“gotta save something for tomorrow morning,” he responds, throwing himself down beside her. she snorts, then lets her eyes fall closed. only for a second, though.

“fuck.”

“what?”

she’s already standing up. “i need to _pee_.”

“is this a new kink?”

“ _ugh_!” it’s her turn to whip a pillow at him. “i meant so I don’t get a UTI, dickhead!”

“yeah, whatever. grab me a glass of water while you’re up?”

“go fuck yourself.”

his laughter follows her out of the room, and if she smiles a little softly to herself, well, nobody else needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> if there's any formatting errors PLEASE let me know! also feel free to hit me up on my tumblr (the url is the same as my username here).


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